cries and whispers

Another Bergman film today... Funny, I had done a lot of reading before actually watching it and there was a lot that was just as I had imagined and a lot that did not touch me the way I had expected. I guess that this film must be shocking for people who have never talked about death openly, nor reflected it frankly nor have experienced the death of a loved one.

The movie reminded me of my grandmother whom I think a lot of these past weeks. People often tell me that I look a lot like her, that I even move like her. It's true that I often had the impression of looking in a mirror when looking at old pictures of her. I inherited her restlessness, her eyes, her hair, her silhouette, her nails - but she never gave me the chance to get to know this person I'm appaerently so alike.

I saw her die and I don't think of that time as an especially dark or depressing one although it was all very moving. I remember being very curious about her state, especially about her thoughts. I wanted to know what it is like to face death, I did want to learn everything I could from her and I told her that more than once. She always refused. She always used to turn away, mute. Maybe she thought that I would be afraid of what she had to say? Or maybe it was all just too personal for her. I'm almost sure that my request forced her to think about what she didn't want to face.

Still it's the only thing I can't let go: that she refused my hand and didn't want to give me hers.